Red Maple
by LAHull
Summary: Patrick Jane finds himself in the middle of a mystery involving people from his past - A version of Jane's backstory BEFORE it was revealed 9/10. Story is set 4 weeks after "Red Roadster" and 5 months after "Red Ghost" Feedback appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

"Really, guys, none of this is necessary." said Grace Van Pelt, embarrassed at all the fuss being made concerning her first day back at work following the car accident that nearly took her life. She moved deftly on her crutches, right leg in a cast up to her knee. The entire CBI crew lined the hallway to her desk, smiling and applauding her return. It was really quite mortifying. At the end of the gauntlet was her own desk and her own team. Grace's face was red by the time she made it underneath the "Welcome Back Van Pelt" banner hung across the open doorway.

"Are you alright?" Wayne Rigsby was concerned. He pulled out her rolling chair and met her with it at the door.

"I'm fine," Grace said. Rigsby blocked her path with the chair so she reluctantly sat in it and let him push her to her desk. Waiting for her there was a paper plate with her favorite breakfast: a blueberry bagel and cream cheese, courtesy of Patrick Jane, who stood smiling by her desk. "Thank you," said Grace.

"You're welcome," he replied, watching her expectantly. She'd already eaten, but picked up the bagel and took a bite just to please him. He watched her chew and when she was finished, pointed to a cup and saucer also on her desk. "There's tea," he said.

"She likes coffee," came a voice from two desks away. Kimball Cho was working at his computer.

Grace grimaced slightly at the tea and said, "I do like coffee…"

Jane looked crestfallen and Rigsby nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to the break room to fetch Van Pelt a cup of coffee.

"Really," said Grace. "Thanks, but I'm just happy to get back to work…"

"Glad to hear it, Agent Van Pelt," said Teresa Lisbon. "Getting back to work is something we all need to do." She tried to hide her pleasure at seeing her youngest team member behind a tough-boss façade. "Where's Rigsby?"

"Coming, boss," he called from the hallway. Rigsby hurried in with Grace's coffee which he set on the desk next to her tea. Lisbon stared at the clutter on Van Pelt's desk. Van Pelt took the paper plate containing the bagel and put it in her top drawer. Jane picked up the neglected tea to drink himself.

Amused, but not quite willing to show it, Lisbon sat on the edge of Van Pelt's desk to give the morning briefing. She opened the first of three folders she was holding. "We got the forensics report back on our floater. Male Caucasian, early 20's, no obvious signs of trauma. Stomach contents reveal a mix of anti-depressants, Mexican food, alcohol and $6.79 in quarters, dimes and pennies…"

"Cheap date," joked Rigsby.

"…and a three carat diamond engagement ring," finished Lisbon.

"Not so cheap a date," said Jane.

"You want this one?" Lisbon asked Cho.

"Hell yes," he said, standing and taking the file.

"What Mexican restaurant was he last seen in?" asked Rigsby.

"Doesn't matter," Lisbon told him. "You're going to Oregon."

"Why?" Rigsby asked.

"With Jane."

"Why?" Rigsby asked.

Lisbon opened the second file she was holding. Jane walked over and tried to look over her shoulder but she tilted the file so he couldn't see it. "Prisoner return," she said. "Female. Normally I'd send a female officer, but since Van Pelt is immobile and I've got semi-annual reviews due… You're up." She looked at Jane. "You know this one," she said.

"Who is it?" asked Jane.

"Stephanie Donovan."

* * * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * * *

According to the file, Stephanie Donovan had entered the offices of the Warren Corporation, a property management company, at 2:25 pm yesterday. She identified herself as a journalist and asked to speak to Mr. George Amadi, an agent handling business rentals in the north-east sector. When told that Mr. Amadi was not available, Miss. Donovan asked if there was a break room where she could get some refreshments before leaving. Miss. Donovan left the break room and went directly to Mr. Amadi's vacant office which she entered by unknown means. Mr. Amadi discovered Miss. Donovan sitting at his desk 10 minutes later when he returned from a meeting. She had attached a zip drive to his computer and was downloading files. A brief confrontation ensued during which Miss. Donovan tossed a decorative vase at Mr. Amadi, striking him in the chest and knocking him down. She then ran out of the Mr. Amadi's office with the zip drive. Upon exiting the building, Miss. Donovan got into her car and began to pull away. Mr. Amadi had sufficiently recovered from the earlier assault to follow her and tried to prevent her from leaving. Miss. Donovan struck him with her car, again knocking him down. She then hit a parked car, and fled the scene.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Jane said.

"Unless you're George Amadi," Rigsby said. "Was it his car she hit?"

Jane consulted the file. "It was," he replied.

"Sounds like he has reason to press charges," said Rigsby.

"There's no reason to be so judgmental," Jane told him.

"Are you going to be impartial about this?" Rigsby asked.

Jane was offended. "I'm always impartial," he said.

"This Donovan woman is a friend of yours."

"I wouldn't say friend," protested Jane. "Acquaintance."

"The two of you spent a few hours being held hostage in a basement by a lunatic."

"Yes," Jane agreed.

Rigsby looked at him. "Wouldn't that imply a familiarity beyond mere acquaintance?"

"Why?"

"Stockholm syndrome," answered Rigsby.

"Ah," said Jane. "That applies to the relationship between the hostage taker and the hostages."

"Surviving a traumatic experience together usually results in some form of bonding," Rigsby insisted.

"I'm glad we both survived," replied Jane. "I'm also glad that our captor survived. I bear no animosity toward him because he was mentally ill. I feel no particular bond as you call it to Miss. Donovan other than a general interest in her wellbeing and a curiosity as to the situation she has involved herself in that causes us as law enforcement personnel to have to transport her as a suspect in a crime."

"Right," said Rigsby.

Jane suddenly became excited. "Pull over!" he said. "Stop the car!"

"What's wrong," demanded Rigsby, applying the brakes.

Jane smiled and pointed to a shop just ahead. "Doughnuts!"

* * * *

The remainder of the ride to Portland in the CBI's black SUV was uneventful except for the hour long soliloquy launched into by Jane while on a Krispy Kreme and Diet Coke induced high on the importance of noticing pulse rate and pupil dilation during a hand shake, which Rigsby distracted himself from by reciting in his mind the menus of several of his favorite restaurants.

* * * *

At the Portland police station Rigsby filled out the necessary paperwork while Jane studied the wanted posters. He made no effort to conceal his pleasure at seeing Stephanie again when she was escorted from the holding cell in handcuffs. Jane noted, but did not remark upon her rugged attire – hiking boots, jeans, sweater and jacket, that she still wore her class ring, she was slightly favoring her left ankle, her new shoulder-length hairstyle the perfectly suited her, or the fact that her green sweater exactly matched the color of her eyes. Instead, he merely smiled and said, "Hi."

"Hello again," Stephanie said. She didn't seem to be all that concerned at being arrested.

The officer who escorted her was carrying a large clear plastic bag marked "Evidence". Jane took the bag and examined the contents: a small overnight bag, a mini-tape recorder, a cell phone, a lap top computer and a gun. Jane looked at Stephanie. She shrugged.

* * * *

Once outside, Jane pointed to Stephanie's handcuffs and said to Rigsby, "You're seriously going to keep those on her?"

"Seriously, I am," said Rigsby, opening the back door and gesturing for Stephanie to get in.

"Why?" Jane asked.

"Because she's a prisoner," said Rigsby.

"It's alright," Stephanie said. She climbed into the back seat with Rigsby's assistance and settled in. Jane tried to reach around Rigsby to give the plastic bag of her belongings to Stephanie. Rigsby stopped him.

"That's evidence," he said. "Goes in the back." Rigsby fastened Stephanie's seatbelt and ignored Jane's glare as he shut Stephanie's door. The two men walked to the back of the SUV where Rigsby opened the back hatch. He motioned for Jane to put the bag in. Jane hesitated.

"There might be something she needs in here," he said.

"Like the gun?" said Rigsby.

"No," said Jane, "_personal_ things."

"It's all evidence," said Rigsby. "Put it in the back."

Jane carefully placed the bag in the back of the SUV, trying to arrange it nicely, but had to move quickly aside when Rigsby slammed the door down. Rigsby was mildly alarmed when Jane followed him around to the driver's side of the car, but there was no attack – Jane merely got in the back seat on the left side.

Rigsby put on his seatbelt and said, "You are aware, Miss. Donovan, that the Miranda Rights you were read by the Portland police department are still in effect and that anything you say can be used as evidence against you?"

"I am aware," Stephanie said.

"So what happened?" Jane asked her.

"It was all a big misunderstanding," she said.

"See," Jane said to Rigsby. Rigsby ignored him and started the car.

"Are you comfortable?" Jane asked Stephanie.

"Relatively," she said.

"Do you want anything to eat? To drink? Do you need to use the restroom?"

Rigsby pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Should have thought of that before we left," he said.

Stephanie smiled. "I'm fine," she said. "So, Patrick, you're still consulting?"

"Yes," said Jane. "And you're still writing?"

"Yes," said Stephanie.

"But not for The Truthfinder…"

Stephanie looked out the window.

"Stephanie," Jane said reproachfully.

"Any port in a storm," she said. "But I'm using my own name. Benson does his own work now – strictly the gossip stuff. I still cover UFOs and Bigfoot, but I am working on something serious now on the side."

Jane brightened. "What?"

"Well, it sort of has to do with why I'm here." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh," he said. "You probably shouldn't…"

"No, I probably shouldn't," she agreed.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Rigsby kept watching them in his rearview mirror.

"You look well," Jane said.

"Thanks," Stephanie said. "I'm doing alright."

"No complications?"

"None," she said. "It takes more than a bullet to stop me," she laughed. "I thought I'd get to see you at the trial… but no trial."

"No," agreed Jane. "Both Steve and Gary were sent directly to psych lock up."

Stephanie nodded. "I'm sure that's for the best," she said.

"I'm sure it is," said Jane.

_This is going to be the most boring trip ever_, thought Rigsby.

"Wanna see my scar?" asked Stephanie.

"Sure," said Patrick.

"You'll have to open my blouse…"

"No," Rigsby said quickly.

"Not the best idea," said Patrick.

"No," Stephanie agreed. "It's cool though. Just a pink dot, really, and there's a matching one on the back since it went straight through…"

"No kidding?" said Patrick.

"The one on the back's a bit bigger."

"So what did you take from George Amadi's computer?" Jane asked abruptly.

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about that."

"We agreed it wouldn't be a good idea," said Jane. "But we've got a long ride ahead of us and if you haven't done anything wrong then we can clear the air and you can be released when we get back to Sacramento instead of wasting time in the interrogation room."

"I'm a journalist," Stephanie said. "I don't have to reveal my source."

"We're not asking you to reveal your source," Rigsby said. "We're asking you why you stole his computer and then tried to kill him."

"If she wanted to kill George Amadi she would have shot him," said Jane. He looked at Stephanie for agreement. "Right?"

"Right," she said.

"You went to his office to talk to him, right?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," Stephanie said.

"You wanted to confront him about some shady real estate dealings and when he wasn't there you decided download his files so you could ferret out the details yourself, right?"

"Your Jedi powers won't work on me, Obi Wan," Stephanie said to Jane. "I'm pleading the Fifth."

Rigsby stifled a snicker and watched for Jane's reaction in the rear-view mirror. Jane merely smiled at Stephanie and she smiled back.

* * * *


	3. Chapter 3

Rigsby hadn't intended to make a rest stop until they were back in California, but with both passengers asleep against their respective windows and the only classic rock radio station he could find fading out, Wayne decided to take the next exit from I-5. It was roughly at the halfway point of the trip anyway, and nearly midnight. The fast food establishments were already closed, but there was an all-night truck stop that was adequately lit. A few semi's were parked in the lot, as were a couple of motorcycles and one dusty old Chevy truck. Rigsby parked just outside the entrance where he would be able to watch the SUV from the window.

The vehicle's slowing speed woke Jane. He opened his eyes, saw the truck stop, and said, "Oh. chili!"

Wayne instantly regretted his choice, but it was too late.

The restaurant was a long rectangle with an exposed kitchen, a counter with attached seats running most of the length of the kitchen side, and the outer wall lined with booths. It was staffed with one cook and one waitress. Neither of them nor the restaurant's patrons blinked at the sight of two men entering with a woman in handcuffs. The newly arrived party of three headed first for the restrooms at the far end. Rigsby knocked on the ladies' room door, then swung the door open to look inside. There was a second door beyond the first, so he stepped inside to check out the facilities. A moment later he returned. "It's fine," he said. "There's a window, but you'd never make it through." Rigsby proceeded to un-cuff Stephanie. "We'll be right outside," he told her.

"Thanks," she said, and went through the door.

As soon as she was inside, Rigsby told Jane to wait outside the door while he used the men's room, counting on the male mechanical advantage of speed in such matters to be back out before Stephanie. Once all three of them were out, Rigsby re-cuffed Stephanie to his left wrist.

"Is that really necessary?" Jane asked.

"She's a prisoner," Rigsby said.

"How is she going to eat?" protested Jane.

"I can manage," Stephanie said. "Stop fussing."

"Yeah, stop fussing," Rigsby said. He led them to a booth, ushered Stephanie in by the window, sat next to her and Jane took the seat across from them. Dinner was an awkward, but amusing affair with Rigsby attempting to eat an over-loaded breakfast burrito one handed. Stephanie selected a single-hand-practical meal of chicken fingers and fries, and Jane, although much tempted by the chili, chose a club sandwich as a more long-car-ride-gracious alternative. By the end of their meals, Rigsby had managed to spill several globs of salsa onto his clothes.

"I'm going to go wash up," Rigsby said. "Give me your arm," he told Jane.

"Why?"

"She can't come with me."

"You're kidding…"

"Nope. Arm." Jane extended his left arm across the table and Rigsby cuffed Jane and Stephanie together. "Stay," Rigsby commanded, then walked back to the men's room.

Feeling awkward with their arms stretched across the table, Jane said, "Maybe I should move over there…" He began to slide out of the booth to sit across from Stephanie but froze at the touch of something hard shoved into his ribs. He looked to his right and found himself staring into the eyes of a dwarf.

"Don't say a word," said the dwarf in a slight British accent. Jane looked down and saw a large gun in the man's small hand. "Both of you get up real quick and quiet before Hercules comes back. We're gonna go for a ride."

* * * *

Rigsby returned from the bathroom to what he was sure was a bad practical joke: an empty booth. Prepared to read Jane the riot act and embarrass him in front of his lady friend, Rigsby paid the check and went out to the SUV. No one was there. "Not funny," he said loudly. "Let's get back on the road." He walked around the parking lot, expecting to find Jane and Miss. Donovan snickering behind a van. What he found instead was Jane's cell phone crushed to pieces. It had been run over by a car.

* * * *


	4. Chapter 4

Rigsby contacted the local police and highway patrol and had a 20 mile perimeter roadblock set up around the rest stop before he made the dreaded call to inform Lisbon back in Sacramento. Having received the call at home and alone, Theresa Lisbon felt free to curse Patrick Jane and the ground he walked upon and she threw on some clothes and headed out the door to her car.

By 2am the remaining members of Lisbon's team had been recalled to CBI headquarters. A couple of officers had been immediately dispatched to George Amadi's house once Lisbon got the call that Jane and Donovan were missing. George Amadi was not home and he did not answer any calls to his phone.

Lisbon relayed this information by phone to Rigsby who was in the manager's office at the truck stop reviewing the security camera footage. "Would George Amadi happen to be a dwarf?" he asked.

Lisbon frowned and blinked, then spoke to Van Pelt who was seated at her desk, computer up and running. "Check Amadi's D.O.T. records. What's his height?"

A few keyboard clicks and Van Pelt had the answer. "Four foot four," she said, puzzled.

"Unless this is a really weird coincidence, I think we have identified a suspect," Lisbon said. "You got that?" she asked Rigsby.

"Got it," he said.

"His prisoner and partner were kidnapped by a dwarf?" Cho mused out loud.

Rigsby heard Cho's comment, but pretended not to.

"I'll fax Amadi's info to the local authorities," Van Pelt said.

"Amadi's info is on its way to the Medford PD," Lisbon said into the phone. "Cho and I are on our way up there...ETA four and a half hours." She hung up the phone and turned back to Van Pelt. "Get Benson Bowman in here. Find out how much he knows about what Donovan was working on. Rigsby said she had some special project going."

"Okay, boss," Van Pelt said.

"You hold down the fort here," Lisbon said. "Cho and I are going up to help track down Jane and Donovan. If this is one of Jane's stunts everyone had better hope that Rigsby finds him before I do."

* * * *

The semi-trailer Jane and Stephanie had been forced into was empty except for its two occupants. Two battered lighting fixtures clung to the ceiling. One of them worked, blinking with each bump in the road. In the dim light, still cuffed together, Jane and Stephanie had searched the walls for a secondary exit, and the floor for possible weapons. They found nothing. The only door was in the back of the trailer and secured from the outside. There was nothing to do but wait.

"So what's your plan?" Stephanie asked.

"Don't have one," Jane answered. He sat down with his back against the side of the trailer. Stephanie was forced down next to him due to being cuffed to his left wrist.

"No plan?" she repeated.

"None," he said, and closed his eyes.

"So you're just going to sit there…"

"I'm not MacGyver," he said. "I can't make a hand saw or a gun out of a stick of gum and some pocket lint."

"Do you have any?"

"Always."

"I meant gum."

"Nope," he said.

Stephanie broke the silence after a few minutes. "You're not going to ask me if I know who this guy is or where he might be taking us or what I might be involved in to get myself kidnapped?"

Jane leaned his head back against the truck wall and didn't open his eyes. "If you knew who he was you would have said so already. If you knew where we were going you'd say something like 'Hey, please don't take us to that lumber yard and cut us up with chainsaws,' and you already told me you weren't going to tell me what you're involved in."

"That was before we were kidnapped," she said.

Jane looked at her. "Do you know who this man is and why he wanted to kidnap you?"

"No," she said.

"And what makes you so sure you're the one he wanted anyway?" Jane asked.

Stephanie looked at him suspiciously. "Why would someone want to kidnap you?"

"I don't know," Jane said. He closed his eyes and put his head back again.

"Going to sleep is going to help us find out?"

"No," he said, irritably. "But if we're very, very quiet we might hear him talking on the phone or the radio or hear something outside that will tell us where we are."

Feeling stupid and annoyed, Stephanie shut up and listened.

* * * *


	5. Chapter 5

As the semi rattled down the road, Stephanie wondered if not telling Jane that she knew George Amadi was the right thing to do. She hadn't said anything in the restaurant because George had the gun in Jane's side and she didn't want to anger him any more than she already had. Then he had simply ordered the two of them into the back of the trailer. Now at least half an hour had passed where she could have told Jane everything – so why hadn't she? Stephanie decided to trust her instincts and not say anything. Besides, it would be awkward to tell him now. Better to let him figure it out on his own so he could feel smug.

After ten minutes of listening for clues from the cab Stephanie realized she'd been had and gave the apparently dozing Jane a shove. "We can't hear anything from up there. This trailer is separate from the cab pulling it. You just wanted me to shut up."

"It worked, didn't it?" Jane said. "Gave me some time to think."

"Well, have you thought of a way out of this?"

"Not yet," he said. "But I probably won't have to. Rigsby's a pretty competent guy. I'm sure he's reviewed the CCTV footage from the restaurant already. The parking lot tapes will show the truck pulling out – they'll know they're looking for a semi driven by a little person. How many could there be? We're as good as rescued already," Jane told her with a practiced air of confidence he didn't actually feel. The security cameras in the restaurant's parking lot were fakes and the loose gravel paving would hold no footprints or tireprints. Rigsby and the team would have no idea what kind of vehicle they were in and carnival transport trucks like this one were pretty common this time of year anyway. If only he'd been able to keep hold of his cell phone. Twice he'd been kidnapped recently and both times he'd had his phone taken away. He'd have to work on a strategy for the next time.

But now, they had a good four hour drive ahead of them and he needed to be sharp when they arrived. Some sleep would be beneficial. Unlikely, but beneficial. If he couldn't sleep he would try to figure out what Stephanie's game was. He didn't know why she was lying to him - yet. _Best to play along for now,_ he thought. _More fun that way, too. _

* * * *


	6. Chapter 6

Lisbon leaned toward the driver's seat and looked at the speedometer. "We're the police, Cho," she said. "We're allowed to exceed the speed limit."

Cho didn't take his eyes off the road, but increased the speed to 72mph. Lisbon sighed and took out her cell phone to check with Rigsby again. It rang before she had a chance to hit the speed dial.

"Give me some good news," she said to Rigsby.

"Wish I could," was his answer. "There were no surveillance cameras outside, so I can't be sure what vehicle they left in. There were several big rigs here, but I didn't pay attention to them so I don't know which ones are missing. Sorry. I feel like a real idiot."

"Don't waste time feeling sorry."

"The road blocks have turned up nothing so far, but there are a lot of country roads up here."

"All right," Lisbon said. "Keep me posted." She hung up the phone and then dialed Van Pelt's desk.

"Bowman just got here," Van Pelt said without being asked. "I'm about to question him now."

"Good," Lisbon told her. "He's all we've got." She hung up and checked the speedometer again. 72mph and holding. "Can you please….?" She said, annoyed.

Cho eased it up to 75mph.

* * * *

Benson Bowman was loving the attention. He had been taken by two police officers from a film festival after party. Everyone was wondering what he could have done. He would be the talk of the town for at least a week. It could only have been better if they'd put him in handcuffs, but they didn't. They said he wasn't under arrest, the CBI just wanted to ask him a few questions. Benson didn't think he knew anything useful, but why bring that up this early in the game? Benson hoped he'd get to see the inside of a real interrogation room, but instead, the officers took him to the only occupied desk on one side of the building. The woman behind the desk seemed less than intimidating. She was young, red-haired and pretty. She even had a cast on one leg. Benson couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Benson Bowman?" asked the redhead.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm agent Van Pelt. Please sit down."

"Agent, not officer?" Benson questioned.

"Yes," she said. "You are a co-worker of Stephanie Donovan, aren't you?"

Benson's smile and interest faded. Stephanie. Of course. "Yes," he said. "What has she done? Did she get taken hostage again?"

"What do you know about it?" asked Van Pelt.

"You're shitting me!" exclaimed Benson. "She really did?"

"What kind of story was Miss Donovan working on that might cause her to harm someone or someone to harm her?"

Benson was suddenly concerned. "Stephanie's hurt?"

"We don't know that," Van Pelt told him.

"Well, where is she?" he demanded.

"We don't know that either," Van Pelt said. "That's why you're here. What was Stephanie working on?"

"She just finished up a Bigfoot story…"

"Was she working on anything serious? Something in Canada maybe?"

"The Bigfoot story was serious. It was up in Washington State. Some people were pretty upset about it." Benson said.

Van Pelt frowned. "Upset about Bigfoot?"

"It was a Bigfoot hoax. Turned out there were just some really hairy people up there – retired carnival people. They've got a whole town…"

"What's the town called?" she asked, pen in hand to take notes.

"God, I don't remember… something with an A… Arville? Arkan, Aragan… Hockley."

"Hockley doesn't have an A in it."

"I was thinking of something else."

Van Pelt tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard. While she waited for Hockley to come up she asked, "Do you know anything about George Amadi?"

"Never heard of him…"

"Eureka!" said Van Pelt. Hockley was a tiny mountain town just north of the Oregon/Washington border.

"…unless it's that little guy with the attitude problem," continued Benson.

"What kind of attitude problem?" Van Pelt asked.

"Well, I never met him, but Steph said he's got a Napoleon complex. A real arrogant little fu..." Benson stopped himself, then went on, "…person. Chip on his shoulder about being short, tries to make up for it making money. Works in a management company where he has access to a lot of money that isn't his own. Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Van Pelt wouldn't say. She was too busy calling Lisbon.


	7. Chapter 7

The pale grey sky didn't promise a glorious sunrise but it provided enough light for Patrick to see that the camp was now more of a town. Population: 237 Humans - 5 Sasquatch, according to the Welcome to Hockley sign. The name conjured up a faint smile and Patrick wondered if old man Hockley was still alive. He'd have to be in his 80's now, surely claiming to be at least 106. The remaining caravans hadn't moved in years, they seemed rooted to the ground – some surrounded by weeds and rusting junk, some by flower beds. A Bigfoot diner and motel were centrally located on the main street, and a Sasquatch Souvenir Shop stood across the street.

"Nothing to be afraid of," said their dwarf captor. "They'll be bedding down now that the sun's coming up. Get out of the truck."

Patrick climbed out of the trailer's double doors, then helped Stephanie down. She was not a morning person, he noted. Despite the rough wooden floor and industrial lubricant smell pervading the trailer, both of them had nodded off to sleep during the 4 hour ride. Jane contributed that to the dim lighting, the meal they had just eaten and the rocking motion of the moving vehicle.

Stephanie brushed her hair out of her eyes with her left hand. She wished she had her computer. She wished she had a toothbrush. There were no cars parked at the hotel and the souvenir shop's door was padlocked, its shelves empty. This was her fault. Maybe she could convince them that she could help undo the damage.

"Across the street," the dwarf directed them. "I called ahead. We've got a room ready." The captor and captives crossed the street and entered the motel though a side door to which the dwarf had a key. He opened an interior door to a windowless storage room, and then unlocked the handcuffs with another of his many keys. "You, in," he ordered Stephanie. "You and I are going to have a talk," he said to Jane. "Ruth will be opening the diner by now."

"Hey," said Stephanie. "What about me?"

"I'll have something sent over," the dwarf told her as he closed the door and locked it. She listened to the men's footsteps as they walked away.

* * * *

As soon as they were out of hearing range, the little man waved the handcuffs at Jane and said, "I'm surprised you didn't have these off already. Have you lost your touch?"

"I didn't want her to know," Jane said simply, rubbing his wrist.

"It's good to see you again, Curly. You should have called; we could have arranged a party." The two of them walked down the sidewalk toward the diner.

"This visit was unexpected."

The little man laughed. "What were you arrested for? Same old thing?"

"Nope," said Jane. "Something entirely new."

"You were always re-inventing yourself, weren't you?"

Jane stopped walking. "Why am I here, Landon?"

"I'll tell you over breakfast," Landon said. He opened the door to the diner and motioned for Jane to enter.


	8. Chapter 8

The diner hadn't changed much in the 20-odd years since Patrick had been there, neither had the woman behind the counter. The years had left been gentle to her. She carried herself with the same regal bearing and kept the same up-do hairstyle. Some of the light had left her face, but it returned the moment she recognized the man who followed Landon into the diner. "Patty!" she exclaimed and nearly jumped the counter in her rush to embrace and greet him. "Oh my God! Why didn't you let us know you were coming?"

Patrick returned the hug, but ignored the question. "It's good to see you again, Ruth," he said.

She pulled away and stood back to give him a good look-over. "You've grown up," Ruth said, sounding disappointed. "But you look good."

"You look good too," he replied. "Just as I remember you."

She swatted him on the arm. "Always was a good liar," she said.

Patrick grinned. "I learned from the best," he said.

"You sure did," Ruth said, suddenly serious. "Have you heard from your Dad?"

"No," he said.

"You're just like him. You don't write, you don't call…"

"Leave the boy alone, Ruth." interrupted Landon. "Or it will be 25 years until we see him again."

"Boy?" questioned Ruth. "He's not a boy anymore," she said, sounding disappointed. "You want coffee Patty?"

"Some tea would be great," Patrick replied. Ruth rushed behind the counter to get it as Patrick and Landon took seats in a booth.

""Tea," said Landon. "So you haven't abandoned all of your heritage."

"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.

"You lost the accent. Or picked one up, I should say."

"I was born here," Patrick reminded him.

"Remember where your blood hails from."

"I do," said Patrick.

"Now who's harassing the boy?" Ruth said. She arrived with a metal pot of hot water, a tiny pitcher of milk and a cup and saucer with a tea bag. Placing these items in front of Patrick, she gave him a little shove to indicate she wanted to sit next to him. He slid over for her. She watched closely as he prepared his tea. Patrick felt as if he was being graded on his performance. "We saw you on TV a while back," she said. "You're doing well?"

"Yes," he said.

"And you're married now…" Ruth said, indicating his wedding band.

"Yes," he said again, and braced for the inevitable next question.

"Kids?"

"He's not here to talk about that kind of thing, Ruth," Landon cut in.

"What else is there?" Ruth asked.

"He's come to help us."

"You have?" Ruth brightened.

"If I can," Patrick said. "Say, do you still make the best pancakes and eggs on the west coast?"

Ruth practically flew out of her seat. "Of course I do! Will you have your usual?"

Patrick smiled. "That would be heavenly," he told her.

Ruth disappeared into the kitchen. Patrick put his cup back on the saucer, and leaned across the table toward Landon. "Maybe it's time you filled me in?" he suggested in a low voice.

* * * *

Stephanie wasn't sure how much time had passed since she was locked in the storage room, but she was sure she needed to use a toilet. There was a mop bucket in the corner, but she wasn't ready to sacrifice that much of her dignity just yet. Why the hell was George acting like he didn't know her? And why was he talking to Jane? She heard footsteps in the hallway and she went to the door and banged on it. "Let me out of here," she demanded. To her great surprise, the footsteps stopped outside.

The door opened. The person outside stared at her. "You!" she said.

"I can explain…" said Stephanie.


	9. Chapter 9

"We're in trouble," Landon said. "The whole town. Money trouble."

"The whole country is on a downslide these days," Patrick said. "You had enough to put up a new hotel and street signs. You've even got a traffic light. Didn't most of you have your money buried under an old tree somewhere?"

Landon laughed. "We dug it up to pay for the hotel and the traffic light. The rest was pooled in a diversified investment account. Lost nearly 25%."

"Could have been worse."

"It is worse," Landon said. "We had a good thing going here with the Bigfoot thing."

Patrick smiled. "So the Westcotts are still living here?"

Ruth returned to the table with three sets of silverware and a pot of warm pancake syrup. "Some of them," she said. "Daniel and Ward, are here. So are Mary and Richie, but Stan lives in Seattle now. He teaches Junior High History."

"Stan is a teacher?"

"He got electrolysis," said Landon.

"Never would tell anyone how much that cost," Ruth added. She went back into the kitchen.

"Turns out the poor S.O.B is uglier without the hair than he was with it," laughed Landon. "Not long after he left, Richie's old truck broke down on the highway. He was out giving it a shove to get it off the road when a family drove by. You know he never wears a shirt. So word hits the papers that people seen a Bigfoot attacking a truck and we got hit with a couple dozen fools with cameras roaming around our woods looking for the next big scoop."

"So you decided to give it to them," Patrick concluded.

Ruth entered with three steaming plates of pancakes and eggs. They all ate as Landon finished his story. "Went really well for 6 years. We could guarantee sightings, kept them to a minimum, just enough to keep interest going. Put up a hotel, a gift shop…"

"Remodeled the diner," added Ruth.

"It's lovely," nodded Patrick. "And these pancakes are wonderful."

Ruth beamed.

"Then some smart-ass reporter did a little snooping and put it in the Truthfinder that it was all a scam. Just a hairy family."

"The Truthfinder is hardly a serious paper," Patrick said.

"Our clientele hardly read serious papers," said Landon.

"And we had coupons in the Truthfinder," added Ruth.

"The other tabloids picked up on it and that was that," said Landon. "We're left with an empty hotel only 5 years into a 30 year mortgage."

"And a traffic light," Patrick said.

"With no traffic," said Landon.

"So how can I help?" Patrick asked.

"We're thinking of turning this into a different kind of business," Landon told him. "We're exposed as carny-folk, so why not go with that? Ruth can still walk the high-wire. Tony and Marco still have their Motordrome."

"They've got to be in their 70's!" Patrick exclaimed.

Landon waved him off. "They have nephews who beg to be let in that thing. They're out there every weekend wheeling around."

"We want to do a retro-style permanent set up," Ruth said. "Bring in some new people, train them – geeks are very big these days. We've got all the old equipment. We can set up the old concessions and games, Carl's been restoring the old carousel…"

"Sounds good," said Patrick. "You're close enough to the highway to get a decent draw. Advertise on a few billboards…"

"Only one thing missing," said Landon.

"What's that?" Patrick asked.

"A psychic," said Ruth.


	10. Chapter 10

Karen slammed the storage room door on Stephanie, locking her in again. She then pulled out her cell phone and called her husband. Daniel immediately jumped into his truck and sped off toward the hotel, parking in back where the employees gathered to smoke. His wife was there in her maid's uniform. "I can't believe she had the nerve to come back here," Karen fumed.

Daniel got out of the truck and slammed the door. "Where is she?"

"Locked in the storage room," said Karen.

Daniel's grin was nearly hidden by the hair that covered his entire face. "How'd you manage that?"

"I didn't. She was already in there, bangin' to be let out."

"How…"

"I don't know, Dan. She was probably snooping around again and got herself locked in. The point is we got her. Now let's get her out to the house before anyone knows she's here." Karen shoved a large laundry bag into Daniel's hands.

* * * *

"You've got a psychic," Patrick said.

"We do now," Landon grinned at him.

"No," said Patrick. "What about Sarah? She taught me everything I know."

Ruth looked at Landon. "He doesn't know?" she asked him.

Landon shrugged.

Ruth reached across the table and put her hand on Patrick's arm. "Sarah died last week, honey," she said gently.

He put his fork down and stared at her, unable to say anything for a moment.

"I'm so sorry," Ruth said.

"How?" was all Patrick managed to say.

"Heart attack," answered Landon. "You'd think she'd have seen that coming…"

"That's not funny," Patrick said sharply.

"I meant with the cigarettes," Landon amended.

But Patrick was no longer listening. He was eleven, or maybe twelve, and it was 1979, somewhere in Oklahoma or Arkansas. Patrick was watching Sarah pack down her tent. She had joined the troop at the beginning of the season four weeks ago and Patrick spent nearly all of his spare time observing her with an intensity boys of his age usually reserved for Saturday morning cartoons and video arcade games. Sarah was tall, dark-haired, beautiful and exotic – well, she was actually from New Jersey, but she put on a great Eastern European accent for her clients. Today they were packing up and the accent was gone and the flowing dress and scarves were replaced with blue jeans and a Norma Rae T-shirt.

"You gonna just stand there, kid? Or are you gonna help? 'Cause you're starting to give me the creeps," she said.

"I can help," he said.

"Great. Then fold up these tarps and load 'em up."

"Will you teach me?"

Sarah laughed. "Teach you? You know how fold a tarp."

"No," said Patrick. "Teach me what you do."

"I can't teach you how to be a mystic, kid. You're either born with it or you're not," Sarah said, taking apart her folding table.

"I don't want to be a real mystic," he said. "I want to do what you do."

Ruth squeezed Patrick's arm and he returned to the present. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you knew. I thought that's why you came back."

"No," he said.

"But now that you're here you'll help us?" she asked.

"I'm not really in that game anymore," he said.

Ruth looked confused, but some customers entered the diner before she had a chance to speak. She reluctantly stood from the booth. "You'll talk to him, Landon?"

"I'll talk to him, Ruthie."

Ruth went to tend to her customers and Landon looked questioningly at Patrick.

"You kidnapped me to ask me to be your town psychic?" demanded Patrick.

"I rescued you," protested Landon. "You were in police custody. They'll never find you here."

Patrick had nearly forgotten about that ruse. "What about the cop you locked in the storage room?"

"What about her?"

"They'll be looking for her."

"Well, whether they find her or not depends on you," Landon said.

"How so?"

Landon smiled. "If you help us, they won't find her. Vincent's got a pair of tiger cubs that can make sure of that. If you don't help us, they will find her. And the natural assumption will be that she was killed by her escaped prisoner. Who they will also find."

* * * *

Tied up, gagged and stuffed into a laundry bag in the back of Daniel and Karen Westcott's pickup truck, Stephanie considered whether or not she had made the right decision in not telling Jane what she knew. She had tried to tell Dan and Karen her plans to make amends, but they hadn't been in the right frame of mind to listen. Their position had been that she had not only ruined their lives, but also the lives of all the people in the town of Hockley, their relatives not living in Hockley, their pets, livestock and future generations. Dan and Karen planned to Do Something About It, and Stephanie didn't think their plans involved the print media.


	11. Chapter 11

Lisbon's cell phone rang and she answered it one handed, using the other to keep the SUV on the road. "What's up, Van Pelt?"

"I've got a hit on George Amadi's credit card," the junior agent reported. "He's in Las Vegas. The Plaza Hotel."

"Crap," said Lisbon. "Don't tell me we're heading in the wrong direction!"

"Can I drive now?" asked Cho.

"No," said Lisbon.

* * * *

Ruth left the kitchen carrying plates for her newest customers. The booth where Patrick and Landon had been seated was now empty.

* * * *

"This really doesn't have a lot of potential as a long-term plan," Patrick said to Landon as they walked back to the hotel.

"I don't see why not," Landon said. He had the gun in his hand again.

"For one thing, they're going to mount a massive man-hunt for agent Donovan. She's not just a cop, you know. She's a state cop."

"None of that will matter once she's a dead cop," Landon said reasonably. "No one knows she's here except you and me. And neither one of us is going to tell."

Patrick said nothing as they entered the back hallway. He was confident that he could overpower Landon and lock him in the storage closet when he opened it to retrieve Stephanie. He'd take the little man's keys and gun and they would escape in the semi. The plan was fully planned and envisioned but it evaporated when Landon opened the door to the empty storage room.

"What the hell?" said Landon. He was so surprised that he didn't even flinch when Patrick snatched the gun out of his hand.

Patrick aimed the gun at Landon. "Who else knew she was here?" he demanded.

"No one," Landon said. "I told you."

"Some one took her," Patrick said. He leveled the gun at Landon's head. "Who?"

"Stop being so dramatic," Landon said. "That thing isn't loaded."

Patrick pointed the gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The only action was an impotent click.

Landon was offended. "You thought I could really be a murderer?"

* * * *

The pick up truck suddenly halted and Stephanie was slammed into the front portion of the truck bed so hard it nearly knocked her out. One foot and ankle had escaped from the laundry bag and someone; she supposed Dan, grabbed it and yanked her to the other end of the truck. She was too dazed to fight with any accuracy and he easily shoved her foot back inside and tied the end of the bag together more securely.

"Where do you want to put her for now?" Dan asked.

"I need to think on that a bit," Karen said.

"How about we throw her down the well? We don't use it no more."

"Nah. She'd start to stink after a few days."

"Not if we throw some lime in there with her."

"People might come looking for her. The well is too obvious."

"We could make it look like an accident."

"Tied up with duct tape on her mouth, stuffed in a laundry sack and covered with lime?"

"Take her out of the sack first. Take off the tape and the rope and just throw her in."

"What if she don't die? She could climb back out."

"We could poke her back down with a stick."

"Shut up, Dan. Just bring her in the house where I can keep an eye on her until I can think of some better plan than that."

Stephanie felt herself being lifted and carried. She was taken into a structure and deposited on the floor.

Karen and Stephanie busied themselves making plans with very different outcomes.

* * * *

Patrick looked at Landon, equally offended that he had been tricked with an unloaded gun.

"Don't look at me that way," Landon said. "I was never good at that persuasion thing. Not like you and your Dad. I was going down to Sacramento to talk to George about the money when I stopped at the truck stop and there you were. Arrested. I thought I could help you out and you would help us. I should have known you'd turn your back and abandon us. Just like your Dad again."

"I wasn't arrested," Patrick told him. "She was. I work with the police now."

"The police?" echoed Landon, horrified. "Why?"

"Long story," Patrick said.

"What was she arrested for?" Landon asked.

"Stealing data from and assaulting your brother. She must have uncovered some kind of scheme of his while she was working on her story. She was bringing it up here to let the town know what he was up to."

"Well, I hope she kicked his ass good," Landon said. "His investments have bankrupted us."

"You told me you'd only lost 25%."

"I told you that in front of Ruth. She doesn't know."

"This girl is some kind of reporter then?"

Patrick nodded. "She's the one who did the Bigfoot expose."

"Oh, hell," Landon said. "There are a few people up here who'd love to get their hands on her."


	12. Chapter 12

Whatever corner of the room Stephanie had been tossed into was not a corner anyone was bothering to watch closely, she determined. She could hear a television playing cartoons, but not much else. At first she attempted to keep her movements to a minimum while she tried to untie herself, for fear of a kick in the ribs, but after a fair amount of squirming drew no attention she went to work in earnest. Once she was able to get her hands in front of herself, the rest was easy. When Stephanie got her head out of the bag she discovered she had had an audience all along.

Two children about 5 or 6 years old, one covered in soft, brown hair, the other not, sat on a couch watching her instead of the television. She put her finger to her lips in a "shhh" motion.

"Mom!" called the hairy one.

Stephanie got to her feet, threw off the laundry bag and ran for the front door just across the room.

* * * *

"Who else would have keys to this storage room?" Patrick demanded.

"Well, it's Bob's hotel, but…"

"Two Finger Bob?"

"Yeah."

Patrick dismissed him as a suspect. "Who else?"

"Antonio does some handy-man work," said Landon, "and then there's Karen. She works here part time as a maid."

"Karen?" Patrick said. "Karen – as in Karen who used to date Daniel-the-Monkey-Man Karen?"

Landon turned pale. "That's the one," he said. "They're married now."

"Is she just as crazy as she used to be?"

"Worse," said Landon. "Now she has two kids."

"They live at the old Westcott compound?"

"Just south of it."

"Do you have a phone on you?"

Landon nodded.

"Call the police," Patrick told him.

"The closest station is in Ashland. It'll take half an hour to for them to get here."

"Give me the keys to your rig."

"You can't go out there…" Landon protested.

"Just watch me," Patrick said as he stalked out the door.

Landon followed him as quickly as he could. "You don't understand! Those Westcotts aren't right in the head."

"I understand perfectly. There's a family of madmen with a grudge and my friend is up there with them," Patrick said while hurrying to the truck. "I could have put an end to this when you first showed up at the diner, but I played along just to see what would happen. Now my curiosity could get her killed. Give me your keys."

"You can't drive it," Landon said.

"Don't make me take them from you."

"I mean you physically can't drive my rig," Landon said. "It's been fitted with extensions – only a little person can drive it. As if you could take my keys from me anyway. What do you think your going to do up there with an unloaded pistol? Just sit down and wait for the police. Please, Patty, just wait."

"There's no time," Patrick insisted. "If I have to go on foot I'll do it." Patrick began to jog up the street.

"Wait," called Landon. "Take Ruth's jeep. It's parked behind her diner. Keys are in it. I'm coming too."

* * * *

Stephanie made it out the door and around the side of the house where she hesitated to collect her thoughts. She'd never make it running through the woods – these people lived up here and knew every tree and bush. There were several old wooden buildings within the overgrown yard. She ran for the nearest one. Behind her she could hear Karen shouting, "Damn it Dan, she got away!"

Stephanie tried to get inside the first building, but it was too tightly packed with junk and carnival equipment. She had to run to the next building to duck inside. This building turned out to be a garage of sorts. It had only three walls, the fourth side open with a view of the driveway. A station wagon and an old battered truck were parked inside. Unfortunately, so was one very large, hairy man.

Dan was standing inside the framework of a twelve foot circular cage. He was wearing a welding mask and sparks flew from where he was hunched over a blow torch. He had not seen her, nor could he hear well within the confines of the mask. Karen was yelling for Dan and fast approaching. Stephanie stayed close to the wall and ran toward the truck, hoping the keys would be in it. They were. Just as she opened the driver's side door, the flickering light cast by the torch's sparks went out.

"Hey!" shouted Dan.

"Get her, get her!" shouted Karen.

Stephanie braced her back against the side of the truck and gave the round cage a mighty kick. It rolled off the cement blocks that had been supporting it and crashed to the floor with Dan inside, roaring in pain and anger as he fell against the hot metal edges he had just finished welding. Dust and wood chips on the floor beneath the cage began to smoke.

Stephanie jumped inside the truck, put the key in the ignition and started the engine just as a shotgun blast disintegrated the back window of the pickup. She hunched in her seat, threw the truck into reverse and accelerated out of the garage. Karen had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit and dropped her shotgun.

Stephanie whirled the truck around and headed for the road. Karen recovered quickly and managed to fire off one blast that mangled the truck's left rear tire.

Dan noticed that a small fire had started underneath him and pitched himself against the opposite side of the cage. The cage began to roll, picking up speed as it reached the gravel driveway.

It was a bumpy ride with only three tires, but that wasn't going to stop Stephanie. Keeping her head low, she managed to guide the crippled truck out of the Westcott's yard and onto the dirt road that led back through the woods into town. A quarter mile down the road it wasn't the flat tire that eventually stopped her. It was the axle getting stuck in a pot hole. The truck lurched at a crazy angle so steep that Stephanie wasn't able to open the driver's side door. She looked back long enough to see the garage going up in flames, the round metal cage containing an increasingly furious Dan rolling down the hill toward her and Karen right behind it carrying her shotgun. Stephanie climbed out the window of the truck and ran.


	13. Chapter 13

Patrick saw smoke rising from the top of the hill and his heart sank. He stepped on the gas and sped around a curve in the road. What he saw when the road straightened made him slow down. What stood out most in that view was a large round cage bouncing off the top of a broken down pickup truck. The cage contained what looked like a chimpanzee wearing blue jeans, though he had never heard a chimp curse as profanely as this one was. The second thing he noticed was Stephanie, looking disheveled and terrified, but very much alive, running down the hill at top speed. The third and most troubling thing Patrick saw was Karen Westcott kneeling beside the truck, aiming her shotgun.

Patrick hoped that she was out of range and pulled to the side of the dirt road to begin a three-point-turn and get out of the way of the careening cage. Stephanie ducked as the cage vaulted over her head and then climbed into the jeep's back seat. A blast from the shotgun ripped through the leaves just to the side of the road. Not out of range after all, just bad marksmanship. Turn completed and passenger loaded, Patrick hit the gas and sped down the hill.

* * * *

"You sure it was called Hockley?" Rigsby asked. "Because there is a whole lot of nothing happening here."

"Yes, Hockley," insisted Van Pelt over the phone.

Rigsby had parked the SUV in front of an old-fashioned diner. He could smell bacon, eggs, and pancakes and his mouth was beginning to water. "When I say nothing, I mean…" Rigsby's attention was drawn to the far end of the main street where the road began a steep climb up a hill. There was smoke at the top of the hill, and a noise that he couldn't identify was getting louder. It sounded somewhat like the screams of a person trapped in an industrial dryer rolling down a hill. "I'll call you back," he said to Van Pelt, and snapped his phone shut. Rigsby heard a shotgun blast and he drew his weapon and took cover behind the SUV.

From the cover of foliage obstructing the view of the road as it slanted upward came not an industrial dryer, but a round cage of some sort preceded by a cloud of dust and leaves. It slammed into the wall of the little hotel at the edge of the town and the screaming stopped. Or some of the screaming anyway - The noise that came from the woods now was more of a "Whooooooooooo."

Still holding his weapon, Rigsby cautiously peered over the hood of the SUV, then ducked back as a vehicle burst out of the woods. This was a jeep, driven erratically by none other than Patrick Jane – from whom the "whooo" had come. Next to him in the passenger seat was the dwarf from the security camera video, and a very upset-looking Stephanie Donovan clinging to the back seat.

Rigsby straightened as Jane skidded the jeep to a halt behind the SUV, but diverted his attention back to the road as the jeep's three occupants were frantically pointing in that direction.

"Drop your weapon and get down on the ground." Rigsby shouted to the woman who had just emerged from the woods. Clearly worn out from her run, Karen did as she was told, tossing the shotgun into the street and then lying face down on the pavement. Rigsby approached her with his weapon drawn, kicked the shotgun out of her reach then knelt beside her and applied a set of handcuffs.

He looked at the jeep's passengers who had climbed out and were watching him. "Where have you been?" he asked Jane.

Jane was out of breath, but managed to say, "Oh, just out for a joy ride."

* * * *

By the time Lisbon and Cho arrived 90 minutes later, Rigsby had control of the situation. Local and state authorities had arrived, Karen was in custody and Dan was on his way to the nearest hospital to be shaved and have his numerous broken bones and scrapes attended to. The Westcott children were being tended to by the non-crazed members of the Westcott clan, and the garage fire had burned itself out.

Ruth's diner had become the unofficial headquarters for all of the law enforcement personnel, and she was having one of the most profitable days she'd had in months. At the large table in the corner sat Lisbon's crew with Stephanie and Landon. Landon had excused himself to take a phone call and Ruth hovered close by, certain that when Patrick left she would never see him again and he wasn't getting away this time without a hug.

Several locals had shown up and were clustered around the man they called either Patty or Curly. Rigsby committed those nicknames to memory for use in the future. Cho had a second helping of pineapple upside down cake and refused to explain why he'd eat pineapple on cake but not on pizza. Lisbon was amused because for the first time she saw Jane being reluctant to be the center of attention. She allowed the reunion to go on as long as she dared, but it was closing on one in the afternoon and they had a four hour drive back to Sacramento.

Everyone stood to say their goodbyes. While Jane was distracted by a hug from a tearful Ruth, Lisbon instructed Stephanie to turn around to be handcuffed. Jane witnessed this over Ruth's shoulder.

"Do you have to?" he asked.

"She's still under arrest," Lisbon told him.

"Maybe not," said Landon, who had just returned. "My brother would like to speak to you."

Lisbon took the phone and stepped aside.

"So what does he have to say for himself?" asked Ruth. "Did you tell him that we want to chop and dice him up and feed him to Vincent's tiger cubs?"

"You can tell him yourself," Landon said. "He'll be here in a couple of hours."

"He's got a lot of nerve!"

"That's not all he's got a lot of," Landon grinned. "Lucky bastard. Took the last of the money out of our account for a last fling. Put it all on red 23 on the roulette wheel at the Plaza. He's coming here with a million-six!"

"Lucky bastard!" said Patrick.

Lisbon hung up the phone and returned to the group. "He wants to drop all charges. I told him he has to come in and sign the paperwork and it'll be done." She took Stephanie by the arm. "Until then, you're still in police custody."

"You're kidding," Patrick said.

Lisbon grinned. "Yeah. Turn around." She unfastened Stephanie's cuffs.

* * * *

Cho and Rigsby left in one SUV, and Lisbon, Jane and Stephanie got into the other. "Can we make a couple of quick stops?" Jane asked.

Lisbon groaned. "It's a long drive…"

"I'll be quick, I promise," he said. "Turn right at the next street."

Lisbon did as she was asked. Less than half a mile away they were already out of the town, nearing a field of wild flowers.

"Stop here," Jane said. He got out of the car, went into the field and picked a handful of flowers. He got back in the car. "Turn around now, and take the next left."

Lisbon followed his instructions, turning left along a rural road with a couple of rusted caravans set off among the weeds. At the end of the road was their destination: a small tidy graveyard. She didn't need to be asked to stop.

Patrick Jane got out of the car. Lisbon and Stephanie watched as he approached a fresh grave and placed half of the flowers on it. He stood there for a moment, then walked deeper into the graveyard and stopped in front of an older stone. Patrick paused a moment, placed the rest of the flowers on the grave and then returned to the car.

Lisbon drove wordlessly away.


End file.
